


it's not living (if it's not with you)

by hezenvengeance



Series: the light lives in all places [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hezenvengeance/pseuds/hezenvengeance
Summary: erebos should really just say what's on his mind more. g'raha helps.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: the light lives in all places [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648006
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	it's not living (if it's not with you)

Syrcus tower, the fine point of the Crystal tower, is stunning. The warm glow of the sun falling toward the horizon casts everything in a hazy light, makes the crystals glow and shine. The breeze ruffles Erebos’s hair where he lies on the floor, a hand healing away odd wounds and blows. He closes his eyes, and lets it pass. 

“You look awfully content down there.”

Erebos cracks one eye open, already knowing who he’ll find - it doesn’t stop the warmth suffusing his chest when G’raha’s eyes meet his own, the smile he wears warm, if a little weary. His quiver is running conspicuously low, Erebos notes, and the archer catches his gaze and sighs.

“More of those clones, but Cid reckons with the portal inert for the moment, we ought to have a stolen moment of peace,” he says, dropping down to sit beside Erebos with a dramatic sigh. Erebos chuckles. 

“I think we’ve earned a minute or two, at least to lick our wounds,” he says, resting a hand over his ribs to cast another physick - things really like to attack him there, apparently - breathing deep as the pain begins to subside. He asks almost without thinking: “Are you hurt at all?” 

G’raha sighs. “It’s a small wonder you haven’t died of your injuries yet, my dear adventurer, with how quick you are to offer aid even at your own expense,” he says softly, fingers dancing lightly over Erebos’s ribs and the elezen sucks in a breath a little too fast to be normal. Whether it’s the residual bruises or just the strange and pleasant sensation of G’raha _ touching _ him, he can’t hope to tell. 

“Someone needs to look after you,” he says softly, a little breathless, and G’raha laughs; the sound makes Erebos light up from within, warmth where G’raha’s fingers still linger on his chest that has nothing to do with the dying rays of the sun, striping them both in Allagan gold.

“I rather think that statement is more applicable to you, oh Warrior of Light,” G’raha says, chuckling when Erebos snorts dismissively at the title, though his tone is tinged with some gentle fondness, and Erebos feels the warm weight of it settle deep into his bones, “You do much for precious little in return. You told me the other night you could count on one hand the times someone had asked if you were alright since your glorious deeds began.”

Erebos swats at him, grumbling without heat. “I was drunk!”

“But you weren’t lying.” A flush comes to Erebos’s cheeks, soft as spring cherry blossoms, but he can’t deny it. G’raha raps his forehead with the back of his hand, but before Erebos can complain the touch changes; G’raha slips his fingers to the curve of his ear, following the line of his jaw. The touch sets him alight, but calms something he didn’t realise had stirred - some aching loneliness, built deep in the recesses of his heart - and he leans into the touch, watching the archers hair shift in the wind. 

G’raha looks beautiful in the amber light, haloed by the setting sun, and Erebos almost says so.

“You look beautiful,” G’raha whispers, looking down at him with such aching fondness. Their hands touch, slide, entwine; a perfect fit. 

Well then.

Erebos gingerly sits up, conscious of the fading pain in his ribs and the dull ache in his head, but such trifling thoughts flee his mind when G’raha leans over, closes the distance between them and seals Erebos’s lips with his own. It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered, innocent and new, but Erebos finds himself inextricably pulled back in, and it’s not long till they kiss and touch in earnest; the push of tongue that has them both moaning softly, G’raha’s fangs scraping his bottom lip that sends a pleasant shiver up his spine. There’s a niggling feeling in the back of Erebos’s mind that their location is far from ideal, but it’s pushed away as G’raha falls on to his back and Erebos follows, pinning the archer to the floor with his hips, chasing the grin that spreads across G’raha’s mouth for another kiss as he grinds down and swallows G’raha’s gasp of pleasure. Every one of his nerves is alight; the hand he’s claimed pinned above G’raha’s head, the reassuring squeeze G’raha gives him when he pauses, struggles to orientate himself under the wave of sheer _ want _ as G’raha’s dual-coloured eyes light up with mischief and desire. The sharp points of G’raha’s fangs leave lightning in their wake as they graze against his jugular and Erebos moans softly at the thrill - when did G’raha get his shirt undone? - Not that it matters, not when spry legs lock around his waist and force his hips back down, and watching G’raha tip his head back and _ whine _ at the friction nearly tips Erebos over the edge as he settles into the languorous grind, heavy and heady and hot, so hot, hanging on to the slim thread of control that stops him shucking his pants and simply taking G’raha right here on the floor, Allag and NOAH and all the rest be damned. 

It’s stupid of them. Danger and death all around them and what are they doing? 

_ Living _ , his mind declares boldly, the sun warm across back and his blood singing in his veins and  _ G’raha _ ;  _ G’raha _ looking at him like he’s a star given form,  _ G’raha  _ threading a hand into his hair to pull him down for another soul-searing kiss,  _ G’raha _ hard with want under him, for him and because of him, pressing biting kisses into his skin, a trail of marks and claims for their eyes alone. 

The archer’s eyes drift a mite, settling on something out of Erebos’s purview; not hard, when his entire vision is G’raha. “Wait, wait- Curse it all, Erebos,  _ hang on! _ ” G’raha protests, even as his peals of laughter fill the air as he wriggles valiantly under Erebos, who sweeps in for one more kiss before he lets the archer up, sinking back on his haunches as G’raha stands. The archer dusts himself off like he can erase the mess of his hair and the flush of his cheeks and the  _ very obvious _ tent in his pants with just a few flicks of his wrists. Standing tall and mischievous and  _ proud _ in the light, once more haloed by the setting sun. This time he does say it. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He means it. 

G’raha snorts, reaches for him. Erebos lets himself be pulled up, hardly conscious of his own need, love struck as he is, till a questing hand dips into his leathers and Erebos can’t help the choked gasp that tears from his throat at the sensation. He’s never been one for wanting, never been one for  _ lust _ ; it’s almost embarrassing how quickly he folds against G’raha as the archer walks them back, toward the throne, undoing his leathers as they go enough for his cock to spring out, hot and heavy and already leaking steadily into G’raha’s waiting hand. 

His back touches cool crystal; he tilts his flushed head back enough to see the empty throne, and then back to see G’raha’s perplexed expression. Gods above, he really wanted to- 

It’s comical he knows, somewhere above the images racing through his mind; of G’raha’s lips at the tip of his cock, of sinking inside him, warm and tight heat, of G’raha inside  _ him _ , the pleasure-pain of taking instead of giving for once in his damn life, sat over the archer on that crystal throne naked as his name day and G’raha’s hands sunk so hard into his hips they’d bruise. But right now G’raha holds him in hand, pumping steadily, holding his gaze with that smile, that  _ smirk _ that made Erebos’s heart flutter the very first time they met face to face. The hand stroking his cock twists on its next pass and Erebos hisses, a ragged gasp spilling from him when a thumb rubs over the slit, and he hears an appreciate hum from below his chin as his head tips back, exposing his throat once more to teeth and tongue. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a levitation spell in that fancy grimoire, arcanist? Perhaps a ladder?” 

How the hell he manages to say it with such a seductive overtone, Erebos will never know. 

“I’ll remember for next time, hm?” He rasps out, shuddering as G’raha’s pace jumps, eyes squeezed shut. “I won’t last- G’raha  _ please- _ “

It’s a mercy that G’raha seems clear-headed, for the most part, even as Erebos tilts his head back down and catches those eyes, dark and heavy with want, flushed pink as he sinks gracefully to his knees. He licks a single, long stripe up Erebos’s cock, never breaking eye contact, lapping up Erebos’s slick with such a look of wanton desire that it leaves the elezen a desperate, swearing mess. 

“G’raha- I won’t-“ Erebos chokes on the words as the archer dips his tongue into his slit, kissing the head of his cock as he pulls back. _ Tease. _

“You’re not supposed to, Erebos,” G’raha admonishes, but it’s gentle, and this time Erebos swears he’s sees more fondness than want, more love than lust in those eyes, “Let someone take care of you for a change, hm?” His heart feels fit to burst, fluttering like a hummingbird within his ribcage. G’raha strokes him steadily again, and Erebos swears he sobs. It’s too much. 

_ ‘I think I love you,’ _ Erebos almost says. But any words he might’ve uttered are lost as G’raha licks his lips, takes a breath, and finally swallows him down. 

* * *

A trip to the World of Darkness and a transfer of ancient power later, Erebos will wish he had said it. He’ll wish he had said it with all the reverence and devotion and love he could muster, screamed it from the top of that accursed tower for all Eorzea to hear. He’ll wish he’d said it through the tears, struggling vainly in Cid’s iron grip, only freed once the doors had closed for the final time and his love was left on the wrong side, pounding away as if the force of his grief and yearning would undo the magic of Allag and open the doors again, begging him to come back, to open the door,  _ please G’raha, please don’t leave- _

He’ll keep wishing, Erebos is sure. For as long as he lives, he’ll keep wishing. Hoping against hope that he’ll see that smile again.


End file.
